


Găuri de fund

by BelladonnaWyck, justlikeyouimagined



Series: Sânge și Dulce [2]
Category: Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, M/M, Other, Public Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22162696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelladonnaWyck/pseuds/BelladonnaWyck, https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeyouimagined/pseuds/justlikeyouimagined
Summary: It felt like too much too fast. He wrestled with the desire to close his legs up, pull his ass in behind the curtain and go home.
Relationships: Nigel (Charlie Countryman)/Other(s)
Series: Sânge și Dulce [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1577212
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	Găuri de fund

**Author's Note:**

> This story fits into the Sange verse as a "past, young Nigel" story. It can be read without having read Sange or the pending sequel! We have several timestamps planned for this verse, both in the future and in the past! We hope you enjoy. 💚💙

Nigel stepped into the tiny wooden box that would be his only personal space for the next four hours. He slid the deadbolt against the flimsy door: a sorry play at security. His blood pumped in his ears, making the din of the club pulse into focus and out again. His hands shook as he shucked his pants and boxers off. The rest of his clothes followed, a careless pile in the corner by the door. 

He eyed the industrial tub of lube to the side of the curtain. His eyes closed tight, bright lights smashed in the periphery of the dark behind his eyelids. In a moment of weakness, he swiveled in the small room and went straight for the door, his hand on the lock before he stopped himself. Several seconds ticked by. He focused on the noises about him, the grimy feel of the metal in his hand, the cold concrete under his feet. It helped to calm him by degrees.

He let go of the door. Still, he swooped down and retrieved a small baggie from his discarded jeans, his fingers feeling numb and useless as he tried to untangle the knot at its top. 

Scooping a large pile of blow with his pinky, he shoved it under his left nostril. The powder was clean, burned in a sharp, quick way that warned him of the high that would wash over him moments later. He sniffled back the drip and dug into the baggie again, repeating the motion two more times. 

Every once in a while, a hand would slip in between the black curtains and, finding nothing, sneak back out, usually accompanied by a round of boisterous laughter. _Fucking laş_ , the men would mutter. As the effects of the blow started to sink in and warm his skin, the name-calling spurred him on. 

The room held nothing but the lube and a padded plank that ran nearly the length of the small space and out past the curtain’s edge, into the adjoining room. Nigel stood there for some time, swaying slightly as the drug raced to his head, thinking. He’d done a lot of fucking stupid shit for his _family_ in the last year since Darko had vouched for him, but this reached a level of depravity even he had balked at when it was first demanded of him. Publically, he’d argued and fought enough to maintain his dignity. Privately, the idea had sat in his belly like a seed, growing roots and embedding deep in his gut. He’d been half-hard all day, thinking about what awaited him later in the evening.

Taking a final, deep breath, he slapped his face once, twice, three times until he felt the sting through the analgesic of the coke, and made a grab for the tub of lube. 

He’d stretched himself before, thinking about what he was walking into. But the lube had dried sticky against his thighs, and so he squirted a large, fresh dollop onto his fingers and put one leg up onto the padded plank, exposing his hole to the cool air. His fingers slipped over his prepped ass, the tip of his pointer slipping in up to the nail before he pulled out and squirted out two more globs. 

Another hand peaked in between the curtains, touching his bare foot and pulling back in surprise. The man behind the curtain laughed when he realized what he’d touched, and made a move to pull back the curtain to get a better look.

Nigel moved with exceptional speed, grabbing at the man’s wrist with glistening fingers and twisting with such force he heard a loud crunching accompany the surprised cry of pain. 

“Open this fucking curtain and I’ll snap it off entirely,” Nigel hissed in Romanian, grinding bones between his fingers for good measure. He let go in disgust. The wounded hand slinked out. 

Once given sufficient time for the intruder to sulk away, Nigel stepped over the plank and, with a moment’s hesitation, straddled the poorly padded leather. Bringing one foot up, and then the other, he braced his feet on the wall on either side of the curtained opening by slipping them into the makeshift stirrups nailed into the plywood wall. He shimmied his ass forward, stopping only inches away from where the black fabric draped, separating him from whatever lay on the other side. Slowly, he laid his back down onto the cold plank. He looked up at the grimy, peeling ceiling and counted to five.

His unlubed hand scooped another pile of white powder out, and he sniffed his courage greedily. Then, in one fluid motion, he pulled the curtain back and shifted his ass so that it pushed forward and out of the small enclosure and into the heat of the crowded room beside him. 

This party was fucking important, and he knew that. It hadn’t made the hit to his pride any easier when his bosses had suggested he’d be suited to do this for them. The first of a final set of acts he needed to complete in order to be promoted. After this, he’d be nineteen and already in charge of his own small crew; just a couple of boys who slung dope on the streets for the larger organization, but it was something. It held the promise of _more_ that sat almost as bitterly on the tip of his tongue as the coke did. 

But a part of him, a part he’d never fucking acknowledge out loud, had been _excited_ to test his limits, to see what he could take. An even smaller, more deeply repressed part of him was practically gagging to be used by the men on the other side of the thin barrier. He’d kill anyone who even hinted at it, but it was a truth that he let stay buried nonetheless. 

He barely adjusted the curtain back, hiding himself from any peering eyes and there were the sounds of movement coming from the other side of the wall. Something sparked low in his belly when two fingers slammed into him with no preamble, hooking almost cruelly so that his rim felt raw and stretched out from it already. 

He hissed in pain, but kept his legs still, unwilling to call it quits so soon. He’d take it like a fucking man, whatever they had to throw at him. 

The person seemed to be intentionally avoiding his prostate, not allowing him to gain any pleasure from it as they plowed their fingers into him. He heard the man spit, felt the warmth of it against his hole before the man pulled his fingers out and pushed them back in, this time with a third tucked alongside. 

“Fuck.” He bit into his fist, not wanting to be heard through the thin sheet that separated him from the party-goers. 

He closed his eyes as the man fucked into him with lewd, squelching sounds. It was far faster than Nigel liked when he sometimes explored his body on his own, but he bit his lip and took it, feeling off to his side to find the open baggie of blow. He’d end up using it all up before this was even half over if he didn’t slow it down, but the bump went down bitter and numbing. He rubbed the excess on his gums, his entire body thrumming. 

He arched into the next thrust as the man’s broad fingers finally brushed against his prostate, impossible to miss now that he was stuffed so full. 

“Filthy fucking blatt,” Nigel was surprised to hear the English, more than a little pissed to hear the Russian slur thrown in. His bosses rarely dealt with the Russians when they could avoid it. He rankled at the words, his knees threatening to come together in an attempt to close his legs. 

“You’ll be taking plenty more than this before the night’s over, boy. You’d best learn to keep your fucking legs open,” the stranger growled through the wall and Nigel’s spine felt hot and then cold, his entire body going taut at the threat. 

They’d been vague on what would happen at this party. He knew he’d be getting fucked, maybe even have to suck some cock, but the way the stranger had framed it left him reeling. He was aware of what happened to boys like him at places like this. Lithe, young things with some fight still left for more powerful men to feel like they could tame. A place for men to cut the teeth of their cruelty where they wouldn’t be told _no_ or to stop. 

He caved, scooping another fingernail full of coke and sniffing it with more force than necessary up his nose. He forced his legs to fall lax, framing the small entry to the room. 

There was mumbling behind the wooden wall, some language he thought he recognized snippets of, but not enough to fully understand. So it wasn’t just Russians here, then. This had implications for their business, potentially big consequences if he didn’t do his part tonight. He sighed, resigning himself just as the man’s rough fingers slid out of his ass and didn’t return.

As much as he felt awkward laying down and getting fingered by a stranger, it felt doubly so to have his ass ignored. From the sounds of the club, he could imagine the scene on the other side of the wall: at least a dozen men, possibly many more, each in various states of undress, virtually ignoring one cock or asshole while casually fucking the next. 

A swelling heat grew low in his belly, and his cock twitched once as it began to fill. It was him being ignored, which should make him feel indignant. But it was having quite the opposite effect, knowing his waxed, glistening ass was on display for these powerful men, ready, waiting. A bead of pre-come peaked from the head of his cock. Nigel shuffled slightly before he stopped dead, suddenly aware his antsy movements might look over-eager to the men on the other side. He didn’t fucking _need_ their attention, but arousal bloomed in his gut all the same. 

Suddenly, a firm swat over his asscheek made him jump in surprise. He bit his lip and swore under his breath as the first heavy-handed smack was accompanied by a second, then a third. Someone flicked him lightly, directly over his hole, which made him grind his teeth together in anticipation. 

Then: nothing. For a long time. Longer than he felt comfortable with, if he were being honest. The thin wall shook as another man to his right was fucked brutally hard, the taunts from the crowd cheering the guest on as his thrusts made the plywood shiver. Nigel felt a self-consciousness creep over him. His cheeks burned from the supposed shame of being forgotten. Without realizing what he was doing, his knees began to come together as though he were trying to shield his now aching erection. The men shouldn’t see how turned on the lack of attention was making him. 

Finally, he felt it: the edge of a sheathed cock testing the resistance of his rim, rubbing lube around his hole, teasing him. He clamped his mouth shut tight to stop himself from moaning in wanton appreciation. Instead, his knees fell open again, baring himself for the stranger.

The slide of the man’s lubed cock into his hole felt like a jigsaw piece falling into place. After being so recklessly fingered open before, the gentleness of the man’s slow but insistent glide into him made him whimper in pleasure. He stayed perfectly still for the guest, feet flexing and pointing in his stirrups as the man pulled nearly all the way out and began to fuck him in earnest.

The position wasn’t superb for him, but Nigel found he didn’t mind. He didn’t remember being this achingly hard in years, having a stranger pound into him like he was little more than a fuck toy. He canted his hips up and down in an attempt to shift the uncomfortable ache between his legs, but it was useless. Without someone touching him, he wouldn’t come like this. His cock pulsed and let loose another fine bead of pre-come at the thought.

“Look how turned on this one is?” Someone chuckled in Russian off to the side. He heard a chorus of laughter as someone grabbed his cock ungently and gave him several quick, hard pumps before they threw their hand off him to leave him wildly unsatisfied. Nigel couldn’t help but squirm at the attention this time - his moan was eaten up by the ensuing snickers from the other side. 

The man fucking him slapped the plywood separating them, and let out a loud groan. Nigel could feel his cock pulse in heavy, jerking waves as he came and filled up the condom. A pang of disappointment hit him; he found he wanted to feel the hot come flood into his warm hole, wanted to imagine it leaking out and dripping heavy onto the floor below him. 

He barely had time to catch his breath before another man was pushing his way between his thighs, the first man’s cock still practically inside him as the new man slammed home. He wasn’t nearly as gentle about it as the other guest had been, setting a brutal, jarring pace from the start. Nigel could feel his cock bouncing against his lower abdomen, smearing pre-come across his skin. 

“Such a sloppy hole already, perfect little pussy,” the man on the other side of the wall growled, and Nigel’s cheeks flushed angry red with shame. He wasn’t a fucking _whore_. He considered saying as much, but something about the man’s fingers, bruisingly hard where they were buried in Nigel’s hips, pulling him into each forceful thrust, stayed his tongue. 

He heard the wet sound before he felt it, the man’s saliva sliding warm and thick down the crease of his thighs. Nigel shifted in his grasp but the man only held him harder, spitting again, this time directly onto Nigel’s cock and swollen balls. A whimper left Nigel’s lips at the feel of it, everything heightened by the coke that raced through his system, the booze he’d started with before he even arrived. It felt like fire racing through his veins, making him desperate, needy. 

This man wasn’t wearing a condom, which was confirmed for Nigel when he slammed home into Nigel’s sore hole, cock twitching violently as he released inside of him, coating his walls with his hot seed. He pulled out with a loud, cracking _smack_ to Nigel’s ass and, presumably, walked away. Another thrill ran though Nigel at the thought that he simply didn’t _know_ what was happening on the other side of the thin plywood. He could make out shuffling and catch bits of conversation, but he had no idea who might be standing on the other side or what they might be doing. Whether they were looking at him, admiring his smooth, used hole or his hard, straining cock. 

He moaned into his fist when a new hand found its way to his cock, stroking him with a rough, calloused palm, the motions just the wrong side of painful. 

His body responded anyway, his cock twitching in the grasp. This man spat on him too, the saliva dripping warm and filthy across his rim before the man’s cock was at his entrance, pressing in alongside his frothy spit. 

Nigel’s moan couldn’t be masked by his fist when the man decided to slip his pointer finger in alongside his cock, Nigel’s rim stretched further than it ever had been. He felt stuffed full, close to breaking. His prostate was rammed over and over by the rabbit fast thrusting of the man between his thighs. 

Another finger slithered in, poking around the cock that was forced to slow by its introduction. This one felt gloved, lubed, entirely foreign. It made Nigel shiver and reach for the bag of blow again. A powerful thrust jostled the powder off his pinky and landed, half on his face, half into his open mouth. Despite the bitterness, he lapped it up, licking over his lips and teeth as his mouth prickled into expanding circles of tingling numbness. 

The intruding gloved hand brought another finger in, forcing the cock to slide out of his hole with a noticeable _pop_. Its absence was immediately replaced by more fingers, some gloved, some not, prodding at his open hole and rim, running the pads of the fingertips along the seam of his balls and toying playfully at his throbbing cock.

It felt like too much too fast. He wrestled with the desire to close his legs up, pull his ass in behind the curtain and go home. He shut his eyes against the sensations, but that only made them come to the forefront: instead of indistinguishable crushing hands and fingers, he could now feel each individual’s digits playing with him with their own particular flavor of cruelty. 

The one with the gloves was gentle but insistent, sticking his lubed index finger in and out of his hole, just past the second knuckle before pulling back again and toying with his entrance. He could tell another man was holding back, grabbing fistfuls of his ass and inner thighs, practically panting for the other men to leave so that he might take his turn. 

Soon there were at least two men’s hands in his hole, fingers pulling at his rim and urging him to loosen up. The way they jostled him made him feel less like a person and more like a plaything, to be worked open before used to take their pleasure. The thought shot hot down his spine and he clenched his ass greedily around the fingers. 

“Fucking eager, this hole.” A man said, annunciating every word with a hard slap to Nigel’s inner thigh that made him pull his legs together and unintentionally push at least two of the fingers out. 

“Open wide, fucking cumslut.” Another round of laughter, then more hands groping and grabbing about his ass and balls. As if by instruction, most men ignored his red, hard cock, or if they didn’t, would only sneak a few quick pumps before throwing it back to splat wetly onto his lower abdomen. The lack of relief was a turn on of itself, and the pleasure Nigel felt between his legs was spreading, every now and then making his thighs quiver involuntarily.

Slowly, Nigel could feel the attention drawing away from him, as hands grew less needy and fewer fingers probed into his hole. The man with the gloves persisted though, seemingly in control of the situation and not allowing any other cocks near what he had claimed as his own. Nigel wondered absently who might be behind the gloves to garner such control in a room full of powerful men. The thought made him shiver. 

He felt the cold shock of more lube being poured out over his entrance, the three fingers that were already stuffed firmly inside of him not moving as the liquid spread out around them, coating his rim and his thighs alike. 

With little warning, the gloved-guest was bringing his pinky to tease at Nigel’s rim, applying a firm and persistent pressure to his muscles before they finally caved beneath him. Nigel’s entire body went lax with the excess coke thrumming through him, making him pliant. The pressure on his prostate intensified, and he worried that he’d come whether he wanted to or not, his cock twitching painfully as his body was forced to part. 

He heard whispered murmurings from what seemed to be a small audience. Not gone then, simply watching as the man at his hole kept everyone rapt, even Nigel unable to focus on anything other than the intense feeling. He’d never felt this full, never imagined he could take so much and have his body still demand more. 

“Look how desperate he is!” Nigel heard a raucous voice break through the relative silence of the gathered crowd, and a rumble of disapproval was the first true sound Nigel was able to make out from the gloved-man. A soft _tsking_ sound and the man who’d interrupted immediately quieted, further piquing Nigel’s curiosity at who exactly sat between his legs that commanded such obedience from the entire room. 

The man pulled all of his fingers out until just the fingertips of his three middle fingers remained at the edge of Nigel’s battered hole, more lube added to the mix before he pushed back in with all four fingers. Nigel could feel that they were all curled in close to one another in a curved fashion, making the glide as smooth as possible. Nigel’s legs shook with the effort of keeping still, staying open. The four fingers slid out and then pushed back in, knocking their knuckles against the tautness of his stretched hole.

Nigel groaned loudly when the man teased his thumb against where he was already so open. He felt like he was gaping, like he’d never be able to close up again after this. He could feel the man push forward, wriggling his thumb more and more insistently into the small concave hole made by the curling of the man’s other four fingers. 

There were a few rumblings then, people talking in hushed tones as they watched Nigel get taken apart, get fucked open not by a cock, but by this man’s gloved-fist, his thumb popping past any remaining resistance Nigel’s lax, sloppy hole may have had left. 

He nearly sobbed with the pain of it, the pressure so intense that he felt his erection flag, his entire body fighting against the coke to draw tight with tension. He pulled his legs together instinctively, but another set of hands slid in, behind the curtain to stroke his upper thighs and then pull them back, one hand on either side. Nigel considered snapping fingers, the pain was so searingly intense, but something quiet in the back of his mind stilled his hand just inches from the guests’ grasp. 

The man didn’t move for several long moments, letting his fist sit inside of Nigel’s ass. Occasionally, his fingers would spread out slowly, stretching him as much inside as the man’s wrist stretched his clenching rim outside. 

Quivering, shaking, barely able to contain himself, Nigel took the last of the blow from the baggie and put it on his trembling fingers. He managed to get about half up his nose, the rest fell sloppily over his face like snow. 

The coke did little to numb the edge off the burning ache that shot well past his ass, seemingly connecting to his spine and shooting up to the base of his skull. He tried to breathe through it, heavy, shaking breaths, but he knew he’d pull back if the man so much as twisted his hand any time soon. Half of him wanted him to try.

A second hand came to grasp over his dying erection, and with it his attention successfully divided between where the fist sat heavy in his ass and where another stranger took him in hand, twisting slightly with each upstroke, bringing him quickly back to hardness. 

With it, a growing acceptance of his situation, though he continued to breathe heavily, his chest rising and caving in with every sucking breath. The hands on his thighs, sensing his acceptance, hesitantly let go their grasp, then slid back behind the curtain. Like that, he was left alone in the small plywood box, a puppet for some powerful man to jostle and fuck however he saw fit.

His toes spread wide the second the gloved hand began to twist. He felt each ripple of the man’s knuckles, his fingertips, curving and twisting about his insides. 

Slowly, painfully slowly, as the knuckles pulled back and pressed against the inner rim of his hole, Nigel felt the hand slide nearly all the way out of him. More lube. More fingers. Then, again, he was left soaring with no one touching him except the masterful stroking of his cock and the persistent push of the guest’s gloved hand back to seat itself deep into his gut.

Nigel groaned, this time in half-pleasure, as the man’s hand twisted immediately, only to pop out of his hole before pressing back in. Again and again, the man twisted his full hand in and then nearly completely out of Nigel’s lax asshole. Soon, the pain was overtaken by a heady, profound yearning pleasure, and Nigel shifted himself forward slightly, sucking another inch of the man’s wrist up past his rim.

Nigel floated for what felt like an hour, but what must have been in reality only a dozen or so minutes. He didn’t even notice the hand jerking him off leaving, or the quieting and dissipation of the crowd that had once gathered around him. None of it mattered. He was tethered in place only by the gloved hand that shifted and twisted, gripping closed and then opening back up to wiggle against his delicate intestines. 

The constant pressure to his prostate and feeling of fullness was enough, even without the hand on his cock, and with little preamble, Nigel found himself spilling thick, heavy dribbles of come onto his taut abdomen, some of it sliding down along his narrow waist and slender hip to pool beneath him. 

It seemed as though his release triggered some sort of official end for the gloved-man, his entire hand pulling out of Nigel with a sense of finality and leaving him feeling gaped and painfully empty. He felt hollowed out and nearly bereft with it, his entire body practically begging to be filled again even as his cock fell to rest flaccid and empty against his stomach. 

It happened quickly after that, the gloved-hand gone and leaving him open to all the other guests. The next fingers at his hole weren’t nearly as gentle, nothing coaxing about them as the guest thrust four fingers into Nigel’s well-used hole, wriggling around inside of him and pulling a pained groan from his lips. 

The overstimulation was intense, flames licking up his spine as the fingers pressed against his prostate, leaving him reeling and untethered. The four fingers already buried in him were joined by two more, these far more slender than he’d expected, fine-boned and delicate. He looked down his body to see a glimpse of a pale, dainty wrist with a light smattering of hair. Youthful, perhaps even younger than him. 

These fingers were clumsy and unpracticed as they slid into him, the boy balancing himself by splaying his other hand on Nigel’s soaked inner thigh. The lewd, squelching noises that came from between Nigel’s thighs brought a fierce blush back to his cheeks, shame splashing up his neck in red waves. 

He stayed just like that for a long time, fingers clawing at his legs, bruising his thighs and spreading him open wide. He could hear countless men spitting into his gaping ass, could feel their saliva where it rested, drying tacky and cold against his fever-hot skin. Sometimes a hand would fondle his soft cock, pulling a groan of pain from his throat. 

He felt like he’d been screaming, his throat shredded from all of the sounds he’d tried to hold back and the burning pain of tears he hadn’t let fall. He was a live-wire of pain, overstimulated and totally overwhelmed as guest after guest stuck fingers and cocks and, even one time, a hot, wet tongue inside of his loose hole. 

Eventually, he thought it might be over, several seconds gone by since he’d been filled or touched. But then, two rough hands were pulling his thighs even wider, his muscles straining uncomfortably from the stretch and trembling against the strain. 

He felt a warm splash against his rim then, at first thinking it was water. Were they cleaning him? 

Then he smelled it. The unmistakable musk of piss, and a cock head was pressed to his opening, the man’s warm stream now directed inside of him, filling him up until he felt like he might burst, his body unable to contain it all as he felt is slosh out of him and down his crack, slicking his thighs and pooling beneath him on the worn leather of the bench, some of it sliding down the plywood wall to stain the floor on both sides of the partition. 

He tried to twist and curl his tailbone in order to get himself out of the men’s grips, but it was in vain. The men curled their fingers hard into the meat of his thighs and held him still. There was laughter which roiled an anger in his belly and made him curl his fists into balls. It was too important a gathering for him to fucking do anything about it, which made the rage grow hotter still, barely able to be contained. Except.

He whipped the curtain back and contorted his body on the padded plank so he could just peer above his thighs into the room behind the plywood. One, two, three men. They saw him see them and let go immediately. They smiled and laughed, cocksure, before turning to walk away. 

Nigel snarled, etching their faces into his memory. 

“You’re going to fucking regret every second of tonight, you motherfucking cocksucker.” His voice was rough with disuse, giving a further edge to his words. He may not be able to do anything tonight. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t reciprocate at a later date.

Thoughts of revenge soothed him and made his heart slowly return to normal. Soon, another hand came and touched him softly on the thigh, making him jerk in surprise. 

“Fucking touch me and I’ll break your fingers,” he shouted through the wall, then slid his ass quickly back behind the curtain. Fuck the party, he was _done_.

He lay there for some time in the safety of his tiny boxed room, his red, wet ass dripping occasionally onto and over the padding on the plank and dropping onto the floor. He spit his disgust out, swung his legs over the edge of the plank and slowly, very gingerly, moved himself up to sitting. Another burst of piss squirted from his ass. He swore, a string of English he reserved for the most sour of moods. 

He ground his teeth and chewed his lip, peeling a strip of dead skin off in one long pull. Suddenly exhausted, his hands came to his flushed, sweaty face and he put his palms to his eyes. He pressed until he saw stars, trying to wipe the last few minutes from his mind. 

The rest of the evening had been… something. Nothing he’d ever do again, fuck how important it was. But it was an experience he’d never fucking forget. As he stood up, he felt his loose hole flex and tighten, a dribble of piss and come leaking down his inner thigh. 

He grabbed his clothes in a pile and threw open the bolt on the door. Fuck decency, he was sure that if he so much at looked at another person right now, they’d be getting a fist in the face regardless. 

He kicked open the swinging bathroom door and tossed his clothes down in the sink. The shower in the club was small but clean. The water sprayed out steaming hot, beginning to cloud the patinated mirror almost at once. 

So maybe he hadn’t lasted the whole fucking time, but fuck these bastards, he thought to himself as he stepped into the wet heat. He let the night wash off of him, swirling down and away. With enough time, he knew, his rage would drain away as well. But his need for revenge would persist.

He brought up the images of the three men, their cocky faces and their smug smiles from the other side of the curtain. Thinking they were immune to Nigel’s anger was their last fucking mistake. He imagined the three pricks on their knees, beautiful for the first time in their goddamn lives because they’d be covered in fucking blood. They’d fucking howl his name before he was done with them. Nigel’s knuckles itched in anticipation and for the first time all evening, his lips curled into a small smile.

**Author's Note:**

> It is our duty and privilege to let you all know that Găuri de fund is "ass hole" in Romanian.


End file.
